


Psychosis

by superagentwolf



Series: Shades of Grey [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, BAMF Stiles, Boss Derek Hale, F/M, M/M, Mild Gore, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4591182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles learns to deal with the revelations of Fairwoods while doing as much research as he can. The pack are happy to help but when they get an urgent call from an old friend, the team must race to save yet another family from a malevolent force. With Stiles nowhere near trained and Derek holding him back from duty, the fractures in the pack must be mended...before an innocent life is lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre-Hunt

"Stiles, wake up," Scott murmurs, hand shaking Stiles awake.

"Mmmhuh?"

"It's late. You need to go home. Get some sleep," Scott says, and his fond smile is still blurry as Stiles blinks sleep from his eyes.

"Sure. 'Night," Stiles replies, waving Scott away as he rubs a tired hand over his face.

It is roughly ten o'clock and Stiles _still_ has no idea how to 'use' his 'latent ESP'. He isn't even sure if he _has_ ESP anymore.

Every site seems to say something different. Some tell him that ESP can sometimes be 'just a feeling', some sort of 'sixth sense' that guides him in the right direction. Other sources claim that ESP can be honed, perfected well enough that he could be able to see into other peoples' minds. It's confusing and frustrating; Stiles has half a mind to call Deaton and chew the man out.

 _His Yoda non-answers are so not helpful,_ Stiles thinks, reaching groggily to pull some loose papers off his desk. He isn't going home. He has to stay and figure this out.

"You should be gone," a voice rumbles behind Stiles and he almost jumps out of his seat.

" _Je_ sus, Derek," Stiles breathes, a hand clutching his chest. It's racing double-time at the sight of his boss- _and_ the man he's had a stupid crush on for years.

"You shouldn't be doing this," Derek insists, striding closer. Stiles clears his throat, furtively wiping his eyes in an effort to look more awake.

"Doing what?" Stiles asks innocently, tapping his keyboard to wake the laptop up. He fiddles nervously with a pen, trying to cover up his notes with a red-sleeved arm.

"You're not getting enough sleep," Derek growls, and he turns Stiles' chair around with one hand. _Nope, that's not hot. Not at all,_ Stiles thinks, dazed.

"I never get enough sleep. I'm a college kid," Stiles points out, wiggling his eyebrows.

Something about the way Derek is looking at him throws Stiles off. It's an odd gaze and it feels almost as if Derek is trying to tell him something. He looks frustrated, worried...and something else.

"I'm not going to let you stay here," Derek says, but Stiles knows it's a weak threat. Still, he feels bad that Derek is even worrying, so he tries to compromise.

"I...really don't want to go back to my empty apartment," Stiles sighs, tugging at his overgrown hair. Derek's expression softens, his eyes lighting with some kind of new pain. "It's...just me there and it's not good. For sleeping."

"Scott-,"

"Scott is my best friend. I'm not going to stay at his place; he and Kira deserve all the time alone they can get," Stiles counters, biting his lip. It's true; he had considered, briefly, asking Scott- but he knew it was better not to. Scott would worry, Kira would worry and the two of them would let the worry consume their lives.

Derek is quiet for a moment, nodding as he gently sifts through Stiles' papers. There are notes in red. ' _NO HELP'_ appears on every single page. Derek huffs and then yanks Scott's chair out from the desk next to Stiles'.

"All right. Where do we start?"

 

* * *

 

Stiles wakes with a yell. He can see the remnants of Derek's mangled face flashing before his eyes like the spots that appear when you step into the sunlight.

"Stiles?" Derek murmurs, and his voice is gravelly with sleep.

"I'm fine," Stiles manages, breathing deeply, attempting to get his heart under control. He's lying on a couch in the reception room, blanket tangled around his legs in impossible twists. He sits upright, swinging his legs off the couch so he can lean forward, head hanging towards his knees.

Stiles realizes with a start that it's morning already. Light is filtering in through the blinds, illuminating the right side of Derek's worried face.

"What was it?" Derek asks, moving to crouch before Stiles. He is _very_ close and Stiles suddenly finds himself thinking of things entirely inappropriate for the situation- like the way Derek's jaw is impossibly perfect and his eyes are a strange hazel that looks so very green at the moment. _He has freckles,_ Stiles thinks, looking at the small dots lying beneath Derek's eyes.

The room suddenly feels strangely charged, an undercurrent of something magnetic tugging at Stiles. He sways forward a little, swallowing hard as he tries to resist whatever it is that's happening. He feels almost drunk, his body trying to move without him even knowing what's happening. Derek watches, eyes darkening as his hand tighten where they rest on Stiles' thighs. The touch feels like it burns and Stiles is _very_ aware of just how close they are. His mouth opens but he doesn't say anything, too lost in whatever is happening to form words. Derek rises ever so slightly on his knees and they are breathing the same air, are in the same space, are _so close_ -

The door to the reception room swings open. Derek twitches back as if burned and Stiles follows for a second, missing his presence.

"Oh. You guys are early?" Kira asks, confused.

 _Bless the girl, I love her so- but WHY?!?_ Stiles rages silently to himself, frustrated and angry and sad. He smiles at Kira, waving her away.

"Nah, boss-man was about to give me shtick about being here overnight," Stiles says, winking at her as she nods, not looking entirely convinced.

"Oh. Well- I just need to get the room ready. We have an interview today," She says, looking at Derek before glancing back at Stiles, still uncertain.

"Yes. We'll go," Derek says shortly and Stiles feels an edge of triumph at the way Derek has to clear his voice. He sounds like he's just broken out of a trance.

Kira turns to leave and Derek starts to follow her, hesitating at the door. Stiles feels an odd kind of exhilaration rising in his chest and he stands, heart racing as he takes the plunge.

"This should be interesting," Stiles says cheekily, winking at Derek. He puts his hand on Derek's lower back for a moment, enjoying the way Derek's pupils change and his breath catches. He wants to shout in triumph but he chooses to leave instead, knowing that Derek's back will burn for the rest of the day, just like Stiles' hand.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles catches Kira whispering to Lydia as he returns from his coffee run. He has Derek's coffee in his hand, a spiced blend with a bit of honey he'd added on a whim.

"Hey. What's up?" Stiles asks, nonchalant.

"Oh, nothing," Lydia says innocently, but the way her eyes flicker up and down Stiles tell a different tale.

"...what?" Stiles narrows his eyes, trying to fix Lydia with a hard gaze. She is, as expected, impervious.

"I was just wondering...should we be... _using_ the reception room? For our guests today. I mean, I understand its purpose has recently become somewhat _recreational_."

"What- _Kira!_ You and Scott-,"

"No!" Kira exclaims, cheeks flushing pink. "What- we would never do that! In here!"

"But-,"

"I was talking about _you_ ," Lydia says, rolling her eyes.

" _Me?_ Who am I bringing in here? Have I been secretly sexing someone? I would like to know. Please, bring them here. Now."

"You haven't done anything," Lydia says suddenly, sounding both disappointed and disgusted.

"Um, yeah. _What_ are you talking about?"

"Derek," Kira blurts, and her eyes flick between Stiles and Lydia. "This morning-,"

" _What?!_ You thought we were- that we had-,"

"Well, you were both acting weird! I knew you weren't early because the door was locked, so I knew you'd stayed here overnight and _we_ thought-,"

"We thought you two had finally stopped pretending to be totally het," Lydia interrupts, sighing as she reaches for her coffee. "I mean, really."

"I've never pretended to be-,"

"Oh, Stiles. Why don't you just-," Kira tries, but Stiles is tired of hearing peoples' suggestions.

"What? Go up to him and say, 'Hey, Derek, wanna go bang in the reception room'?"

"You could," Derek booms from the office, "But you might not get the answer you're expecting."

 _"Oh my god kill me now,"_ Stiles whispers, sinking to hide behind the reception desk. Kira and Lydia's laughter chime like bells in his ears.

 

* * *

 

 

"We have a case," Derek announces from the doorway of his office. "Our visitors will be here in half an hour."

"When did this come in?" Isaac asks, swiveling around in his chair.

"Yesterday afternoon. Jackson called," Derek adds after a moment's hesitation.

Stiles looks back at Lydia, worried. She and Jackson had been _the_ thing in high school before Jackson had moved to England. The breakup had been hard and Stiles was never sure just how much it had affected Lydia or if she still cared about Jackson.

"Do we have any idea what we're getting into?" Malia asks from her desk and from the tight line of her mouth, Stiles can tell she's on edge.

They all are. Have been, since the last case.

"I'm not sure yet. There's a child involved," Derek adds and the way he says it leaves a bitter taste in Stiles' mouth.

He can only imagine. Derek, whose family was fractured so close to breaking in a demonic encounter. Derek, who still called Laura every week to make sure she was doing okay. Stiles doesn't know much about Derek, but he is sure of one thing. Derek will stop at nothing to save other people from the terrible ordeal his family had been forced to go through. This time, Stiles hopes he'll be able to help.

This time, he hopes no one else will end up broken.


	2. Pre-Hunt: Interview/Day 1- Setup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is acting strange and Stiles wonders if he's done something wrong. Meanwhile, a disturbing development in the case has the investigators wondering if they're dealing with another poltergeist or something more sinister.

The family arrive at 3 o'clock. Stiles watches them come in, a young couple and their daughter. The little girl looks like she's maybe five years old, her dress a pale blue that makes her dark brown hair look almost black. 

Kira introduces Emily and Jordan Strauss, taking her place at the small computer in the back corner of the room. Stiles sits besides Derek, watching the couple. They look tired and scared.

"We'll be recording the consultation for record-keeping purposes," Derek explains gently. "Is that all right with you?"

They look at each other and nod, uncertain but tired. Stiles jots a few notes on his pad.  _Worried. Silent._

"We'll start by asking you to explain why you've come in."

"We...think that there's something wrong with our house," Emily ventures, glancing at her husband for support.

"We've experienced a lot of strange things," Jordan explains, rubbing his palm against the knee of his jeans. "It wasn't anything big at first- it's an older house. We figured it's out in the country, there are animals, things like that...,"

"Yeah. It's out of the way. We figured we'd be paranoid at first," Emily explains, laughing a little. Stiles notices her tearing up, the way her voice gets quieter.

"What was the first incident you thought was strange?" Stiles asks kindly, trying to exude as much peacefulness as possible.

"Well, we- we had just made dinner," Emily begins, looking to her husband for help.

"We were making dinner; it was December. We were using the fireplace to keep it nice inside," Jordan explains. "Hannah was playing in the living room. We heard a noise and she screamed so we ran in. The grate on the fireplace had fallen out- it singed the carpet, it was so hot."

"We didn't think anything of it," Emily adds, almost pleading. "I thought maybe it was just loose. It's an old house. We told her to try not to play too close to it."

Stiles notices Hannah, on her mother's lap, gripping the edges of her dress. He's about to suggest Kira take her outside but Emily continues.

"It was just little things. Doors opening, lights turning on and off, taps turning on and off- but it hurt Hannah. She was in kitchen and one of the drawers opened and knocked her over. It bruised her," Emily says tearfully. 

The team exchanges worried looks.  _Sounds like a poltergeist_ , Stiles thinks to himself, but he isn't quite sure. Neither Emily nor Jordan seem like the type to create a poltergeist.  _Maybe, though..._

"From what you've mentioned, I think it's a good idea for us to investigate. We always try to look at cases involving children," Derek adds softly, looking at Hannah.

The couple thank them over and over before Kira sees them out. Stiles is left with a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Do you think it could be a poltergeist?" Malia asks, frowning.

"It's possible," Scott answers, propping his feet on the coffee table. Kira swats at his legs.

"They're a young couple with a child. They moved into a house in the country, which is unfamiliar to them," Stiles lists, thinking.

"They even said themselves that at the beginning they expected to be paranoid," Isaac muses. "Do you think it could've just developed from their own insecurities?"

"Let's hope that's it," Derek says firmly, rising from the couch. "We're heading out tomorrow morning. Make sure you have enough for a few days, at least."

 

* * *

 

The Strauss' house is beautiful, Stiles thinks as they drive up to it. The yard is green, a willow shading a small spot by the creek on the left side of the home. The house is one story, wide but comfy and painted a buttery yellow. The porch has creamy trim and there's a swinging bench on the side.

"Nice place," Kira murmurs, pulling a backpack out of the back of the van.

"Does Lydia have the history yet?" Stiles asks, grabbing a few bags of equipment.

"She's at the courthouse pulling records, I think. It's taking a bit of digging but she'll be here tonight."

The team filter towards the porch where Jordan is waiting, one hand on the side of the front door.

"Come in. We cleared the guest room," Jordan says tiredly, stepping aside to open the door wider for the equipment-laden team.

"Thank you," Kira says, smiling kindly and Stiles is glad she comes along. Kira has a talent for putting people at ease.

"Isaac, get set up. Kira, Malia, you're with me. We'll re-interview in the house. Scott, Stiles, map everything out."

"Why-," Stiles starts but Derek turns quickly on his heel, leaving Stiles speechless.

Isaac stares at the doorway, glancing at Stiles.

"Okay- what was that?" Stiles asks, lost.

Isaac doesn't speak, passing Stiles a power strip. They work in silence and Stiles tries to think about whether or not he's done anything to piss Derek off in the past 24 hours.  _Why wouldn't I interview? I always interview._ The voices in the living room murmur softly through the walls and Stiles sighs, watching Isaac finish his setup.

"I guess we'll go, then."

Scott is quiet, too, uncharacteristically silent as they take measurements. Stiles feels his skin start to itch.

"Okay, I'm about to go insane.  _What's_ going on?"

Scott looks mildly guilty.

"Nothing," Scott insists, but it only takes a minute for him to completely give in. He's a bad liar. "It's just...weird. I mean...is something going on with you and Derek?"

"What? No, I mean- I don’t know if I pissed him off, or maybe…,” Stiles trails off, frustrated.

“I think he’s worried,” Isaac says after a minute of silence.

“… _what_?”

Kira suddenly appears in the hallway, peering around the living room doorway.

“Hey. We’re done in here. Need help?”

“Sure,” Scott says happily.

Stiles bites his tongue as they finish setting up.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is watching the camera feeds when he sees it.

“… _De_ rek,” Stiles calls, unsure.

The man appears almost instantaneously. Stiles wonders where he was lurking.

“What?”

“Look.”

In Hannah’s room, the camera is trained on the bed. There are pillows and stuffed animals and a doll on the bed. As Stiles and Derek watch, the doll moves.

“Okay. Creepy,” Malia mutters, watching over Stiles’ shoulder.

“ _God,_ you gave me a heart attack,” Stiles gasps, slumping over his keyboard.

“Sorry,” Malia says. Her voice is nearly drowned out by Derek’s words.

“Kira. Bring some incense; we’re going to check out Hannah’s room.”

Stiles watches them leave, itching to help. He sits on his hands, staring intently at the feeds. Scott moves into the room quietly, peering over Stiles.

“Anything else happening?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Stiles says, checking his thermostat monitor. “No temperature change.”

“Did it change before?”

“No,” Stiles says, uneasy.

They’re both quiet. _No change, no ghost,_ Stiles thinks. _But that doll didn’t move on its own._

On screen, Kira whispers a string of words. The incense in her hand smokes lightly. Stiles watches as Derek moves his handheld around, checking the temperature.

“ _Nothing here,_ ” Derek says over his walkie-talkie.

“Nothing here, either,” Stiles responds.

The team is tense. Derek watches the doll. It lies, unmoving, at the foot of the bed.

“ _I’m bringing it back,_ ” Derek says calmly.

 

* * *

 

“It’s just a doll,” Emily says, confused. “I think we bought it in town once.”

“So it wasn’t a gift? Heirloom?” Kira asks gently.

“No,” Jordan says. “We bought it at a store. A chain store. I’m not sure…it could have been a toy store.”

“All right,” Derek says. “We don’t know that it was moved by something. We’ll put it back, but if it happens again we may have to destroy it.”

“Okay,” Emily says, nodding.

Stiles offers to put the doll back. As he walks down the hallway, he wonders what it was he saw. _Could it have fallen?_ He sits it upright, smiling. _Maybe it’s nothing._

When he turns, Hannah is standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” Stiles says, trying to calm his pounding heart. _She scared me._ “What is it?”

Hannah looks up at Stiles. Her eyes are clear and calm.

“She’s mad,” Hannah says quietly.

“Who’s mad?”

“Annie.”

“Hannah, who’s Annie?” Stiles asks gently. He tries not to think about what could happen behind his back. _I swear to God, if that doll tries to kill me…_

“She gets mad if I don’t do what she wants,” Hannah whispers. Her eyes are focused over Stiles’ shoulder.

_Great. Just great. Kid looking over my shoulder. I’m going to have to turn, right?_

Stiles quickly turns his head, looking over his shoulder.

The doll is at the foot of the bed again.

 

* * *

 

“Hannah, what else has Annie told you?” Kira asks.

The little girl squirms in her seat, looking at her parents. Jordan smiles encouragingly. Emily looks ready to cry.

“…she tells me to do things,” Hannah says.

“What things?”

“She tells me to go outside. She wants me to play in the woods,” Hannah says. “But I’m scared.”

Emily makes a small noise, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Okay, Hannah,” Kira says softly. “It’s okay. Does she tell you anything else?”

“She says my parents are bad,” Hannah says in a small voice. “She says they can’t take care of me.”

Derek exchanges a look with Kira.

“Okay. It’s okay,” Kira repeats, trying to smile. Stiles can see that she’s worried.

“We have to burn it,” Derek says quietly as they leave the room.

“Do you think it’s a spirit?” Kira asks. “It could still be a poltergeist.”

Stiles shakes his head.

“It’s not a poltergeist,” he mutters. “Hannah is scared. Dolls are notoriously inhabitable, too.”

“You think something’s in the doll,” Scott says as they enter their base room.

“I do,” Stiles says calmly. “I don’t know what it is, or why it’s there. If the doll is new, from a chain store, it’s probably a recent occurrence. Maybe it has to do with the house.”

“Maybe,” Isaac says. “We’ll know when Lydia gets here.”

“Until then, I still think we should burn it,” Derek says shortly.

Stiles glances at Malia, eyes questioning. She shrugs. _What’s his obsession with burning it?_

“I’ll help,” Stiles offers.

“Scott, Kira. Let’s go,” Derek says, ignoring him.

Stiles is left in stunned silence as the others leave. Malia watches Derek leave, an eyebrow raised.

“That was weird.”

 

* * *

 

Derek watches the fire blaze.

In the center, the doll sits untouched.

“This isn’t good,” Scott sighs.

“What do we do?” Kira asks, worried.

“Let’s put it in the living room,” Derek says. “We’ll keep a camera on it. If anything happens, at least it won’t be around anyone.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles hears the front door open and he hopes the doll is gone. _Ashes to ashes,_ he thinks.

“Uh-oh,” Isaac murmurs. He’s watching the hall feed.

“What-,” Stiles begins.

Derek’s holding the doll.

“Shit,” Malia says.

_Shit,_ Stiles thinks.

“Well, We’re going to need another camera,” Isaac says. He gets up and grabs one, waving a hand at Stiles. “Keep an eye out.”

“Sure,” Stiles starts but then he feels something, a static itch, and he stops.

He has a fraction of a second but he takes it, yanking Isaac away from the wall. The bookshelf falls heavily, landing right where Isaac was standing.

They’re silent for a minute.

“Great,” Malia says faintly. “Reading _can_ kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but I had this chapter on hold until I could get a longer one done. I can't keep this dead any longer, though! So here it is. Things will wind up soon and I'm happy to tease that there will be some exploration of Stiles' powers.


	3. Night 1 / Day 2 - Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek continues to act strangely around Stiles. Thankfully, Lydia joins the group and the team comes up with a plan. Things don't go the way they're expected to, though, and the result is that they may have to rethink their approach.

Lydia is impeccable in her blue dress and brown boots. She shows up at midnight, an island of normalcy in the roiling sea of confusion Stiles is currently about to drown in.

It feels a bit dramatic to think so but really Stiles is beyond perplexed at Derek’s cold shoulder.

“You’re not going to like this,” Lydia starts, sighing as she enters the base. Stiles follows with her suitcase.

“How bad?” Derek asks.

“It’s not a matter of what I _could_ find,” Lydia explains, moving towards the table. Isaac, sitting in front of the camera feeds, tilts his head to listen. “It’s more what I _couldn’t_ find.”

“Let’s start with positives. What _did_ you find?” Stiles asks.

“I found a layout of the house. Basic structural information. It was difficult, though- the property itself is _old_. There are records of families living here in the 1700s at the earliest. Renovations have obviously been done, though,” she waves a hand at the blueprints before her, unrolling the paper.

Derek hums, leaning over the plans. Stiles steals a glance at him, wondering. _He doesn’t look angry. He just looks…like he always does, on a Hunt_.

“So it’s old,” Malia notes, glancing at Lydia. “ _Someone_ must have died here at some point.”

“That’s the problem,” Lydia sighs, shuffling a few photocopied papers. “Information on families who lived here was almost impossible to find. There are basic records- property deeds, things like that- but no birth records or driver’s license papers or anything like that. It seems like most of the families who lived here _moved_ here.”

“People live in houses like this long enough to have _some_ records,” Kira says, mystified.

“Well. If they stay,” Stiles realizes, thinking. “If something was happening to them, though…”

“You think this started a long time ago,” Scott says, more of a statement than a question.

The implication stirs around the room like smoke.

“We can’t jump to conclusions,” Derek starts, staring at the papers.

Lydia very clearly makes a face at the back of Derek’s head and then looks at Stiles, eyebrows raised.

_What’s his deal?_ Stiles tries to look innocent but her expression says she doesn’t buy it.

“Why don’t we all get some rest,” Kira suggests, clearly a bit uncomfortable by the sudden tension. “If something happens overnight, we’ll know what to do.” 

* * *

 

Stiles sighs into his pillow, punching it in annoyance.

_I didn’t do anything,_ he thinks to himself. He wants to grab Derek by the shoulders, shake him, ask him _what is your problem?_

There’s a sudden, quick sound of feet moving down the hall. Stiles holds his breath, listening.

“Derek,” he hears Isaac whisper. “You need to see this.”

Stiles carefully rolls out of his sleeping bag, moving carefully to the door. He leans close, one ear to the gap by the doorknob.

“What is it?”

Footsteps again, this time moving back to the base.

“I was watching. The camera feed was fuzzy for a moment and when the image resolved, I saw this.”

Silence. Stiles tries not to imagine what they must be seeing, hoping they say something.

“It’s looking for Hannah,” Derek says quietly.

“Should we move it?” Isaac asks.

There’s a moment of silence. Stiles can sense Derek’s conflict. Move it and the entity might hide. Don’t move it and the family could be in trouble.

“Leave it,” Derek murmurs. “It shouldn’t do anything. If Hannah comes out to talk, keep a close eye on her. If anything happens, alert me and _run_. We don’t want to risk anything happening to the family.”

Derek’s feet move back down the hallway and Stiles crawls back to his sleeping bag, sighing. He wonders if Derek will continue acting strange or if maybe, just maybe, he’ll start to realize that shutting Stiles out is a bad idea.

* * *

Malia wakes Stiles up for his watch at five in the morning. She’s yawning, short hair tangled and messy as if she’s been running her hands through it.

“The doll is in front of their bedroom. Keep an eye on it,” she explains.

He’s glad she’s tired because he can’t bring himself to imitate surprise at the news.

The doll-Annie- is sitting there, on the floor, facing the bedroom door. Stiles shivers a little. _It’s strange,_ he thinks, scrutinizing it. _It doesn’t really look scary. Kind of sad, really._ It’s an old-fashioned doll, the kind with a soft body and hard head and hands. Something about the red-purple color around its eyes makes them look sad, almost concerned.

“Great. Now I feel bad for the demon doll,” Stiles mutters, exhaling slowly.

He almost wants something to happen, which is terrible, but he thinks that if they know _what_ it is they’ll know _how_ to deal with it. _I think it’s a ghost,_ he considers. _The temp change was strange but with what we know about the property it seems logical._

He spends his time watching and waiting and then, at seven, before anyone else wakes up, Lydia comes in.

“You’re up,” he notices, blinking to clear the last foggy bits of sleep from his eyes.

“I was thinking,” Lydia says, “maybe Danny could check other databases for what I couldn’t find.”

“Maybe. We’d have to be specific, though,” Stiles says, rubbing his face. “I know how long it takes to cross-check. The processing power alone is insane.”

“Could we just specifically look for land records, then?”

“That’s still too much,” Stiles mutters, thinking. _We need something specific. Very specific._

“We need information on the families. It could be…driver’s licenses. Birth records. Hospital bills. Anything that could-,”

“Missing persons,” Stiles realizes, the words dropping like stones.

“Missing persons,” Lydia echoes. “But we don’t know-,”

“No,” Stiles agrees. “But we’re surrounded by woods. If it wasn’t a family from the house specifically it could have been someone in the woods. It’s close enough to seek out the home as a place to inhabit something.”

“All right,” Lydia finally says, nodding. “Let him know. If we don’t get anything, we’ll try a different search. 

* * *

 

The group is having breakfast when Lydia gets a call. She takes one look at the screen and leaves promptly, answering with a professional greeting.

Malia glances at Stiles, questioning.

_It’s the library,_ he thinks. _Or someone with information._

When she gets back she gives Derek a significant look, keeping quiet as she eats.

“Mr. and Mrs. Strauss- we’re going to discuss our plans for today. We’ll let you know what we’re doing and if you need to leave the house,” Derek says calmly.

The couple glance at each other and Stiles senses their fear. He wants to say something but Derek speaks again, firm.

“For now, it would be best for you to stay in the front room. Keep Hannah close.”

The couple nod. When the family leaves, Derek turns to Lydia.

“Call from Danny,” Lydia explains, glancing at Stiles. “He ran some…complicated checks through databases I couldn’t get access to.”

“That’s what you wanted me to call him for?” Stiles blurts, brow furrowed.

“You called Danny to ask?” Derek asks sharply, looking at Stiles with a piercing gaze.

Stiles almost chokes on his water. _He has no reason to be angry,_ Stiles thinks indignantly.

“Yes,” Stiles says firmly. “I didn’t think it was that important to tell you; it was a long shot.”

“I didn’t have his number,” Lydia interrupts briskly, staring at Derek. The man shifts in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with her scrutiny. “Anyways, I mentioned to Stiles that maybe we should look through legal databases and he suggested we try something unorthodox. Danny ran checks through missing persons cases and related disappearances.”

“And he found something?” Scott asks, even though he already looks like he knows what’s coming.

“More than one something,” Lydia says, clearly unsettled. “A _history_ of missing children.”

The room is silent. Stiles feels a pit of dread blossom in his chest.

“How long?” Malia asks, quiet.

“As long as records have existed,” Lydia says quietly. “There are a few town cases but the majority are centered around the woods and this house. Kids missing after playing in the woods. Children missing from the families who lived in the house.”

“The families? Why would they have moved?” Kira asks, shocked.

“Imagine,” Stiles realizes. “Imagine you hear voices or toys moving and you think maybe they’re still here. Or they’re dead and you’re watching your own child haunt your house.”

Derek rubs his face, looking increasingly agitated.

“We need to stop this,” Derek says. “We need heavy-duty cleansing. If we can’t get rid of whatever this is now, the family has to leave. For good.”

“I’ll tell them,” Scott says, rising. “Should they leave for the day?”

“I don’t want to risk something happening on their trip to town,” Derek says. “Lydia, Stiles, stay with them in the base. Isaac, keep an eye on the feeds. Kira, Scott, you’re with me. We’ll do the cleansing in the living room. Malia, if the doll does anything your priority is getting it out of the way.”

The team move quickly, going their separate ways as they prepare. The dread in Stiles’ chest grows heavy like a weight but he ignores it, trying to focus on keeping the family safe.

When Kira starts, Stiles smiles encouragingly at the family.

“You know, Kira’s pretty good at these,” Stiles says lightly. “Sometimes this is all it takes.”

He doesn’t think it will end this time but he doesn’t say that.

“She looks pretty,” Hannah says, watching the monitor. Stiles smiles.

“Scott thinks so, too,” he laughs. It’s a bit forced but he tries to lighten up, watching Kira in her traditional dress. _She does look pretty._

He sees something, though, like smoke in the corner of the screen.

“Hey. Why don’t you go sit with mom and dad,” Stiles suggest lightly, eyes never leaving the screen.

When Hannah leaves, he watches the smoke move, inching towards Kira.

“Can they see it?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t think so,” Isaac says, teeth grit. “It’s barely registering on our spectrum. I think the camera is capturing it.”

“We need to warn them,” Stiles says.

“The doll is moving,” Malia says suddenly.

“ _Shit_ ,” Stiles curses quietly. “Lydia, go with Malia. I’ll warn them.”

“Be careful,” Lydia says shortly.

Stiles spins out the door, hugging corners as he sprints to the living room. When he enters, sliding in, Derek’s eyes widen a fraction. He ignores him, heading for Kira. Scott catches him before he gets to her, hissing.

“Stiles, you can’t interrupt-,”

“You need to get out of here,” Stiles says loudly. “There’s something-,”

He doesn’t get to finish, throat suddenly closing, pressure increasing.

When he chokes Scott watches, eyes wide, unable to do anything. Stiles thinks it’s instinct that drives his hands to his throat, prying at something that isn’t there.

“Kira!” Derek yells, suddenly rising.

At the front of the room, Kira raises her voice and Stiles recognizes the end of the ceremony. The last words are said and there’s a splintering _crack._

“Let’s go!” Scott calls and Kira spins, following them out of the room.

Stiles struggles to get to his feet, breath thinning as he thinks _I’d better not choke to goddamn death_. Suddenly, Derek’s hands are at his arms, pulling him, and then they exit the room and he falls to his feet, vision spotty.

“What’s wrong,” Lydia cries and Stiles can barely make out the blur of her red hair as she kneels next to him.

“…oked him-,” he hears Scott explain as the ringing in his ears increases.

“...ing to …ss out,” Derek’s voice echoes and Stiles inhales slowly, focusing.

_Don’t pass out,_ he thinks to himself. _Don’t pass out._

He comes back to himself slowly, struggling, blinking the red spots away.

“We need to send the family away,” he finally says, managing the words through a hurting and sore throat.

Lydia looks up at Derek, eyes sure.

“Tell them,” Derek says quietly. She leaves and Derek crosses his arms, staring into the living room. “We need to hit this with something stronger.”

“Yeah,” Kira says, exhaling. “I think it’s time for the Black Book.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Surprisingly, my midterms are kind of making schoolwork slow down. As a result, I have time to write! Hopefully you enjoy and don't hate me too much for the hiatus. I'll try to get a chapter done every weekend from now on!


	4. Day 2 - Communicate, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After sending the family away, the team must decide their next step. With everyone at odds, though, Stiles is finding it hard to stay optimistic. Just when he thought it was over, though, his strange gift comes into play.

The Strauss family leave immediately.

Stiles watches them go, throat throbbing, hoping they’ll be able to come back without the fear of being attacked.

“Hey,” Malia says and Stiles almost has a heart attack.

“…yeah,” he eventually says, swallowing the sandpaper of his voice.

“Are you okay?”

He pauses.

Malia was his girlfriend in high school. She was- _is_ \- wonderful. Malia is deeply loyal, which is probably why they’d worked so well for such a long time. She has more of a savage personality, though, which is not bad but just doesn’t match up too well with Stiles’ contradictory heart. In the end, he thinks it’s good, what happened between them. They both grew.

And here, now, it’s clear she still cares about him.

“…I will be,” Stiles offers, nodding shortly. “Once we’re done. When it’s gone.”

She doesn’t really comment, doesn’t care to contradict him or point out that there _are_ cases that go unsolved. Instead she nods, sure, eyes piercing.

“Yeah. Let’s get this done.” 

* * *

 

“What’s the Black Book?”

Lydia exchanges a glance with Kira. Stiles stares hard at a computer screen.

“ _Stiles,_ ” Derek says firmly.

Stiles thinks there’s anger in his voice. Maybe even hostility. He looks up at Derek, blinks, tries not to let his tears well up. Spill.

“It’s a compendium,” Lydia says, glaring at Derek, and Stiles can hear the overly light tone she uses when she’s angry.

He looks at her. His face says, _explanation_.

Stiles swallows, glancing away, trying to compose himself. Logically he knows he’ll have to tell him. He’s always known they’d have to tell Derek.

“Deaton has books, notes- things recorded that you are _not_ supposed to use,” Stiles ventures, squaring his shoulders. “They’re dangerous, but sometimes they’re the only option.”

“There’s never just one option,” Derek grits out. Stiles doesn’t back down.

“In this case, there might be,” Kira offers, unsure as she tries to support Stiles. “I hit it with my strongest ritual and it’s _still_ here. If anything, all we’ve done is open the way for it to show itself.”

“What do you mean, ‘open the way’? I thought rituals were supposed to shut things down,” Isaac interrupts, raising his eyebrows.

“Rituals are meant to open _and_ close,” Lydia explains, still staring hard at Derek. “The point is that we open the door and show spirits the way home. Sometimes give them a push. Those that don’t want to leave, though- they can reach through the door and pull things through.”

“Then why do we use rituals?” Isaac asks, incredulous. “Isn’t it just inviting them to-,”

“No,” Stiles interrupts, rubbing his throat when it throbs. “No- spirits shouldn’t just be able to reach through. The only ones that can- they’re strong. _Very_ strong.”

Derek stares at Stiles across the silence in the room.

“Absolutely not,” he says quietly.

“So then we leave? Wait for someone else to disappear, maybe? Let another family move in and-,”

“Stiles,” Lydia tries, reaching for him.

He knows his voice is rising but he continues anyways, frustrated. _I know he’s experienced the worst that this life has to offer. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get it right._

“Let another family in and _let them lose a child_?” Stiles repeats, firm. “Derek, you _know_ this is the only way. You need to _trust_ us.”

Stiles can feel the tension in the room. He can feel the air boiling so he steps out, turns to leave.

He doesn’t hear anyone following so he exhales deeply, trying to calm himself.

_He’s been through hell,_ he tries to remind himself. _It’s no excuse,_ the other half of him says. As he walks down the hallway he can hear voices murmuring. Derek, his deep tone a bit louder than the rest. Stiles wants to go back and apologize but he knows that without a push, Derek will never consent to anything even remotely dangerous.

His feet stop at the entryway to the living room. He feels something acid rise at the back of his throat and he stands, staring.

It makes his very heart chill, the cold spreading to his limbs like tendrils of ice. He barely registers his mouth opening, the name spilling from his lips unbidden.

Derek’s footsteps are heavy, quick, followed by the others. They rush over and skid to a stop.

“What-,” Malia starts but she cuts herself off, following his line of vision.

Stiles can feel the others shrinking, recognizing the cold dark emanating from it.

The hole in the middle of the room. 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe we missed a giant hole opening in the floor,” Scott murmurs, peering around the edges to check for splinters as Kira helps Isaac set up a camera.

“I can,” Malia says truthfully, looking at the hole with obvious distrust. “I mean, we were worried about the family. Perfect time to take advantage of the investigators’ distraction.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs. “Except we didn’t _hear_ anything. This- whatever it is- has power.”

Isaac calls from the other room and he leaves, casting a parting glance at the hole.

“Did you find it?” he asks as he enters.

“Yeah. Right when we met up here at base,” Isaac explains, hitting the spacebar on his laptop.

It’s eerie to watch. The mist in the room, lingering after Kira’s ritual, seems to consolidate over the center of the room. It swirls, turning, and then- almost like a jump cut- the boards seem to sink under an invisible weight. The wood drops, silent like a muted video. Stiles can imagine the sound of boards cracking.

“At least there’s no apparition,” Stiles says, aware of the sarcasm in his voice.

“Small miracles,” Isaac agrees drily.

Stiles pats Isaac on the shoulder, turning to leave. As he leaves, he coughs, still in pain. _I hope this goes away soon,_ he thinks. For a moment, in the hallway, he thinks he sees something.

Something dark, like hair, in the corner of the living room doorway.

His feet stop and there’s a dull ring in his ears. He can feel his heart in his throat and he thinks _It’s not even nighttime_ even though he knows time has nothing to do with apparitions.

It’s there and then gone and before he can think, Lydia turns the corner.

“Hey. Derek’s about to tell us the plan,” she says and from her tone of voice Stiles assumes she’s fed up with the man.

If he wasn’t sure, Derek’s words make it obvious.

“Lydia, both you and Kira will perform your cleansing rituals at the same time.”

Stiles blinks.

_And he thought **we** had bad ideas? _He thinks incredulously. Derek sees something in his face and he looks away, ignoring him.

“That is the _worst_ idea I’ve ever heard,” Lydia says, staring straight at the man.

_God bless Lydia,_ Stiles thinks, closing his eyes as he awaits the storm.

“I think-,” Scott begins, but Derek cuts him off.

“If you have a problem-,”

“I think _you_ have a problem,” Lydia says, eyes wide as she stares at him. “but I’ll do it. Just don’t expect this to end well.”

She walks past him, red hair flying on the wind of her departure as she goes to prepare her things.

Stiles catches her eye as she leaves and he thinks, for a moment, he sees sorrow in her eyes when she sees him. 

* * *

Insubordination aside, Stiles thinks Derek has lost the gravity of his power in the investigation.

He’s not sure what’s happened but he can feel it, the rift growing by inches with each passing exchange. Somehow, amidst the turmoil of the investigation, the entire team has- subconsciously or otherwise- decided that Derek isn’t an expert.

Or maybe it’s more than that. Maybe they’ve decided that Derek can’t do anything alone. And he can’t make unbiased decisions.

_The gilt is chipping off,_ Stiles thinks and he’s scared. He’s scared of what happens next. He doesn’t know if they’re growing apart, isn’t sure if everyone is ready to leave.

He doesn’t know what will happen and he is terrified of losing the only thing he’s ever really come to love and enjoy despite the danger they face. 

* * *

 

Lydia and Kira sit facing the hole in the floor. Stiles breathes in carefully, blinking. He wants to _do_ something, to help in some way. Logically, he knows it’s a bad idea. Having two rituals performed at the same time is a bad idea, never mind adding a third.

The girls begin and Stiles watches the hole, finding himself growing increasingly anxious.

_Something’s wrong._

Derek and Scott are sitting behind the girls, watching out for them. Stiles is positioned by the door, camera in hand. He knows somehow that this is not just a bad idea for the amount of energy swirling in the room- it’s something else, too.

_Why is there a hole in the middle of the living room?_

The question emerges like something from the depths of a lake. He feels it, burning and solid like a pit in his chest.

He can’t answer.

There’s no reason. It can’t be a well; he knows building codes and sinking would have been quick finds if the house were on unstable ground or an aquifer. He knows they would have found a well in the original plans.

_So why is there a hole?_

He tries to concentrate on what he’s feeling. It’s like letting his eyes go out of focus, looking at nothing but sensing everything. What he senses, though, is not anything concrete. It’s something acid and yellowy-green. It’s the color of bile, sticky and bitter-sweet. He almost chokes on it.

_Violence,_ he thinks. _Violence_ , _fear_ , _hunger_. It swirls around him and he wants to cry out, wants to run from the room.

He never gets the chance.

The room suddenly spins, his body weightless as he sees the ceiling and wall pass over his head. For a moment, he’s confused, wondering if he’s passing out.

He hits the ground with a _thud_ and a gasp, air gone from his lungs as his chin hits the wood-paneled floor. His hand is stretched before him, camera fallen from his grip.

He can hear his name being called.

_Something is holding my ankle._

He screams, a loud yell, and tries to push himself up. His hands slip on the wood and suddenly he’s yanked, powerfully, by the ankle.

Derek slips by. His eyes are wide, fierce, as he reaches out.

Stiles thinks he’s still screaming but he doesn’t know. His brain is overloaded. He tries to grab hold of something, anything. Scott’s fingers brush his for a second and Stiles misses them with an overwhelming sense of despair.

He realizes, suddenly, that he’s being pulled towards the hole.

Something in him snaps.

“NO! DON’T LET HIM TAKE ME! DON’T LET HIM-!”

His words are ripped from his mouth and then he feels nothingness, air under his legs. He’s tipping, tipping, falling over the edge of the hole and as he does he can see his own hands, pale and stretched over the brightness of the room. The mouth of the hole seems to disappear, far away, shrinking as he falls.

_I’m going to die here,_ he thinks.

And then he hits the bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully it's not too short! I like keeping chapters very episodic so that it's easy to get addicted. Hopefully it's working. Anyways, I'd like to point out (again? not sure if I've mentioned it before) that this series is influenced in part by the manga/anime Ghost Hunt. At least in the sense of the investigations. I adore the series and I take inspiration from the bizarre cases their team investigates. Here, however, I've made the cases pertinent to C-PAC and character development. If you have any suggestions for future investigations, be sure to let me know! I'd love to hear them. Maybe, with enough input, I'd compile a kind of prequel with short ficlets on past investigations. As always, enjoy!


	5. Day 2 - Communicate, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a strange experience. In the aftermath, Derek contemplates the nature of the business.  
> *TW/IMPLIED VIOLENCE*

**_Wake up._ **

It’s a whisper in his ear. He moves his head, feeling the push of air, shivering at the sensation. He feels his eyebrows bunch together, squeezing his eyelids shut tighter as he realizes he’s being hit by a bright light.

_What’s going on?_

He cracks his eyes slowly, blinking.

There’s grass beneath him. When he stands, he feels fuzzy- as if he’s drank half a bottle of wine. The sensation is familiar, a kind of half-aware buzz that permeates his very bones.

He wants to open his mouth and talk but he’s not sure what he’s going to say.

There are little puffs like dandelions spinning in the air. He watches one pass his nose, raising a hand. The little air the movement makes forces the puff upwards, bouncing it lightly.

_Will o’ the wisp,_ he thinks, smiling vaguely. He thinks if he looked closely enough he might see a face. Limbs, even.

A child’s voice echoes in the distance. Stiles turns, blinking. He isn’t sure why but he suddenly feels apprehensive. Turning, he can see a house in the distance. It looks familiar and he feels ringing in his ears, low but insistent. The sense of wrongness grows.

The voice drifts his way again. He turns away from the house, blinking as he steps towards the trees. The woods are green and he can smell pine, fresh and clean in the early evening.

_“Hello?”_

His own voice floats, strangely warped, as if in a metal tunnel underwater. He walks into the trees, strangely worried. The voice seems to resolve and he thinks it’s laughter. Part of him is relieved but the sense of uneasiness doesn’t go away.

_“Is someone there? Where are you?”_

The needles should crunch under his feet. They don’t. Instead he glides, silent, towards a clearing. He isn’t sure how long he’s been walking when he reaches the empty circle. There are a few branches, splintered, at the edges of the clearing. He can see something, stone and covered in moss.

His apprehension mounts but he can do nothing, feet moving as if on a track. He knows he doesn’t want to know but he goes anyways, drawn by something like gravity towards the well. The image of the well, circular and gaping, itches at the back of his mind. He tries to brush the feeling away but it clings like cobwebs, insistent and sticky.

_“Hello? I won’t hurt you. I’m lost,”_ Stiles tries, swallowing.

The voice is gone. He thinks, as he approaches the well, that maybe he imagined it. He hopes he did.

His hands close over the edge of the stones. They’re damp, cool, slick with moss. He readies himself, leaning towards the black abyss.

An empty, cavernous sound reverberates.

_“Is someone in there?”_

The hair on the back of his neck pricks. In an instant, the dread culminates.

_Someone is behind me._

He doesn’t breathe as he turns, eyes wide, gripping the stone with sore fingers. He chokes on nothing when he sees the man.

He is average in every way. Average height, nondescript brown hair and brown eyes. He is wearing everyman clothes- pants and a shirt Stiles knows he’d forget in five minutes. The man is a mannequin, a base model- or he would be, if not for his eyes.

There is something living behind the man’s eyes.

Something dark and _evil_ in the truest sense of the word. It stares coldly out at the world, shining and flat like a shark. Stiles wants to scream, wants to swing out in defense against the alien entity there. It is the gaze of a killer, he thinks.

The man smiles, empty of emotion and warmth, and walks towards the well. Stiles backs up, bumping his legs, almost losing his balance but for the grip he has on the stone. His scream is strangled in his throat but the man seems to ignore him, bending past Stiles to hang a camping lantern on the winch of the well. Stiles tries not to move, ignoring the sick smell of peppermint wafting from the man.

The lamp clicks on and the man stares down into the well. Something flickers to life in his eyes. Stiles can’t tell if it’s the lantern or what he sees on the bottom.

When Stiles turns, hoping to run, something bright catches his eye from the bottom of the well. His mind screams at him to leave, to run. He ignores it, leaning instead over the edge for the last time. He already knows what he will see; he can’t bear to leave now.

The child- or what is left of it- is wearing a white shirt. It is white- the white of a mother’s loving touch, the white of innocence, the white of a soul that is now lost.

He screams into the depths, terror and pain and insurmountable grief spiraling down with him as he falls into the well. 

* * *

 

Derek thinks, for a moment, that he wants to leave and never look back.

The family business has always been risky. Dangerous. Unhappy. He’d known- they’d all known- that the shadow of the darkness investigators touched followed them home. Followed them to their graves.

Ever since the fire, Derek has been careful. His choice to take on the family work had been a hard one. He knew his parents wanted to help people, had always wanted to _help_ \- but he’d begged and pleaded and threatened until they’d agreed to retire. They still consulted, of course, but he’d been able to convince them to stop.

Truthfully, he wanted to stop, too.

He knows the darkness in the night. It has followed him home.

Stiles jerks on the couch and Derek turns his head, startled. Lydia shifts in her seat at Stiles’ head.

He comes back with wide eyes and ragged breath. Derek sees the terror in Stiles’ eyes, the wildfire that burns like a fever. He sees the same look he used to see in his sisters’ eyes, in his uncle’s when they’d wake up screaming. Feeling invisible flames licking their bodies.

“Stiles,” Lydia breathes, obviously relieved but still worried. “Thank god.”

“Did he do this? I’m going to heaven just to kick his ass,” Stiles chokes out, pretending to laugh.

He’s too terrified to do it right; it comes out half-demented.

“Stiles, follow the light,” Scott says and Derek is disturbed that he didn’t notice him cross the room.

“I thought you were supposed to tell me, ‘don’t go into the light’,” Stiles jokes.

He follows the little light in Scott’s hand. Derek thinks _at least he isn’t concussed_ but he can’t bring himself to feel relief.

“I think he’s fine,” Scott announces, sighing. “It was a bad fall but he doesn’t look too bad.”

“We thought you were gone,” Kira sighs from her place by the bookcase. “I thought I’d have to drive you into town to the hospital.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m okay,” Stiles laughs shakily.

His eyes flicker over Derek for a moment and he looks away quickly. The fear still lingers.

“What did you see?”

The words leave his lips, flying across the room in the silence. They bridge the gap, at least for a moment.

Stiles chews his lip and glances up at Derek.

“…it wasn’t nice,” Stiles manages as lightly as he can.

Isaac practically _growls_ from behind Derek.

Stiles looks a little surprised. _Silly,_ Derek thinks, _they’d all die for him._

“Then don’t talk about it,” Isaac says firmly, arms crossed.

“…we need to know,” Malia interjects and it’s the most tentative Derek has ever heard from her.

“At what cost?” Kira asks.

“It’s fine,” Stiles stops them, blinking quickly. “I…the hole. I think it’s a…mirror. For a well. In the forest.”

“Mirror?” Scott questions.

“Yeah. You know; if someone dies by drowning, they might walk around their home in the desert soaked to the bone. Death matters to the dead.”

“So someone died in a well and the activity is tied to their spirit?”

Stiles blinks, staring at a tile on the floor. Derek hears Isaac move behind him, leaving his spot at the computer to bring Stiles a juice box.

Stiles stares at it for a minute as if it’ll grow legs and walk away.

“Thirsty?” Isaac asks, wiggling the juice and an eyebrow.

“Always, in every way,” Stiles quips automatically.

Derek feels his heart melt a little when Isaac leans on the arm of the couch, near but not overbearing.

“We can wait until you’re ready,” Malia amends. “I’m-,”

“Right,” Stiles says firmly. “I can deal with it later.”

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, voice low.

Stiles looks him in the eyes and Derek recalls his father, tall and proud, emerging from the embers of a burning house.

He wants to stop Stiles before he’s burned.

“A man. It was a man- he killed a child. I don’t know who or when; all I know is what I saw. I think the missing people have something to do with it, too.”

The room feels colder. Derek exhales, rubbing his hands over his face. _A child,_ he thinks distantly.

“That would explain the doll,” Kira ventures quietly. “And Hannah.”

“No matter what it is, we need to exorcise it,” Stiles says firmly. “We need the Black Book.”

He stares straight at Derek, resolute. It’s a challenge, Derek thinks, and he curses himself for being weak. For not being able to stop Stiles. For not being able to protect him.

“Tell us what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much to everyone who left comments on the last chapter. I feel like these chapters are so much longer on my Word program...in any case, here it is! We've gone down the rabbit hole and hopefully, interesting things will follow.


	6. Night 2 - Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Book gives the team a fighting chance against the entity terrorizing the Strauss family. With time and the entity working against them, Derek's worries are soon reinforced by the escalating visions Stiles is experiencing.

Lydia pulls the Black Book out of her bag like it’s made of poisonous leather.

Looking at the questionable stains on the cover, Stiles doesn’t blame her.

“What language is that?” Malia asks, sounding vaguely disturbed.

“It’s not a language. It’s a set of wards. Protection.”

“Protection from what?” Scott asks uneasily.

“You now that saying ‘words can never hurt me’? It’s not exactly true.”

Stiles wants to laugh at the vaguely perturbed expressions of his friends. He knows the truth, though, so he knows it’s not really a laughing matter.

The Black Book is a nasty treasury of the most questionable rituals known to humankind. There are passages from all over the world, spanning centuries. If it weren’t real, it would be fascinating. Truthfully, Stiles is still fascinated by it. But he’s also suitably afraid.

“So what kind of ritual are we looking for?” Derek asks. He still looks unhappy.

_I guess that morning at the office was a fluke,_ Stiles thinks despite himself. He immediately regrets thinking about it.

“We’re looking for a cleansing ritual,” Lydia begins.

“So, what we’ve been doing?”

“Yeah. If a kitchen sink were the same as a fire hose,” Stiles raises his eyebrows.

Lydia pauses, glancing at Stiles and Kira. _Who’s going to do the honors?_

Stiles has never been one to shy away from dangerous situations. He takes a deep breath and reaches out.

The pages are stiff beneath his hand. It’s as if they were soaked in something at one point and then dried. He’s not exactly sure he wants to know if or what they may have been drenched in.

“Is that a picture of a severed head?” Isaac asks.

“Fire hose,” Stiles murmurs, flipping to the middle of the book. “Ah. Here.”

“The good news is that this _can_ be simple,” Lydia starts, looking down at the cramped text. “If we can find a body, that is. Or get to it.”

“A body? You mean the child?” Derek asks.

_Well, when you put it that way,_ Stiles thinks.

“Yes. I’m sure you’ve heard of the idea that burning relics can destroy spirits.”

“Sure. That isn’t exactly dark, though-,” he starts and Lydia gives him a _look_.

“What part of burning someone’s remains is not dark enough for you? You do realize that we’re probably going to have destructive activity in the process, right?”

It’s entirely possible that Stiles _hears_ the temperature drop in the room.

“Okay. So here’s the idea: we need to find remains. That means we do some location work- if the…body is still on the property, our job is easy. If not- well, I don’t want a criminal record,” Stiles quips, closing the book with the tips of his fingers.

Lydia gives him a look, just for a second. It’s sharp, knowing.

_No, I’m not going to tell them,_ he thinks. When he looks at her, he thinks she understands.

Burning the remains isn’t really the only part of the deal. It’s just the easiest.

 

* * *

 

“What did she say about the search?”

“Lydia says it’s still somewhere on the property,” Isaac advises, sipping his coffee.

“Great,” Stiles sighs. “At least we won’t have to go grave robbing. The real question now is how to get to it.”

He’s unloading his backpack when he feels Isaac’s eyes begin to burn a hole in his back.

“…what is it?” he sighs, giving in.

“You had that…dream. Thing. What was that?”

“…I don’t know,” Stiles says quietly. “All I know is what I saw. I don’t know how, or why.”

“So is it safe, then? To do this?”

_He’s always been a smart kid,_ Stiles thinks to himself. He’s hoping Isaac doesn’t tell Derek; he doesn’t think he will.

“I don’t know, but we need to get rid of this…thing. For the family.”

Isaac leans back in his chair, blinking. He seems to be thinking, or maybe coming to a conclusion. Stiles waits, crouching amidst bottles and jars.

“Be careful,” Isaac finally says, turning back to his computer screen.

It’s the most sentimental Isaac has ever been with Stiles, so he smiles and stifles his fond laughter.

_No time like the present._

 

* * *

 

It’s already eight o’clock and dark when the team convene at base.

“We’ll head out tomorrow first thing,” Derek tells them, arms crossed as he leans against the wall.

“Procedure-,” Lydia starts but something interrupts her.

A very _loud_ something.

Stiles sees Kira’s shoulders jump; Malia’s eyes widen. Everyone reacts when they hear it. The moaning.

It’s muted and distant but Stiles hears it, the sound of someone in pain and about to die, and he thinks he will never forget it.

“Is it in the house?” Scott asks quietly.

“Nothing on screen,” Isaac whispers harshly, pulling his headphones on as he watches the camera feeds.

The team whispers and Stiles feels them grow distant. Their voices fade in his ears and he moves slowly towards the door.

_Pain,_ he thinks, half-dazed. _And anger. Fear. Sorrow._

He thinks he hears his name but he can’t respond, body moving seemingly on its own. He walks down the hallway, turning to face the living room, dreading what he will see.

**_We’re going to die here,_** a small voice echoes.

He thinks he screams Derek’s name; he isn’t sure and his body is on autopilot as he runs towards the hole in the center of the room. Around him, bookshelves are rattling and picture frames are crashing to the ground.

The miasma of emotions is crippling and he can barely think, barely act. He only registers in the back of his mind the invisible hands at his clothes, insistent and forceful. Someone is shaking him but he ignores it, tearing the silver chain over his neck.

He dangles the crystal and throws a pocketful of salt in the hole.

There are words coming out of his mouth he doesn’t register. He knows the language is strange and broken; as he continues, the fog in his head thins and he realizes Lydia is chanting with him. Her red nails, pristine ovals, lie at the jagged mouth of the pit.

His heartbeat slows and the shaking stops.

He is drenched in sweat and his muscles are twitching, weak with exertion. When he slumps, relieved and tired, there are strong hands bracing his shoulders.

“We can’t wait,” Lydia says, out of breath. “Derek, we need to do this _now._ ”

 

* * *

 

Stiles had known Derek wouldn’t be happy.

“The woods,” Derek says shortly.

“Yes. We already guessed, what with Stiles’ dream,” Lydia explains.

“So we’re looking for the well,” Scott says, lacing his boots.

“What did it look like? Do you remember how you got there or what was around it?” Kira pulls her jacket on, fishing her long black hair from the neck.

“I don’t know how to get there but I do know it’s in a clearing. It’ll be hard to find the clearing but at least that’s a bigger landmark than just the well by itself.”

“Everyone take two flashlights. We’re using walkies; they should last well past sunup,” Derek explains, handing them out.

“At the risk of sounding stupid, I think we should _all_ go. I’m not sure we’d be able to stop anything if there _was_ more activity here,” Isaac ventures.

_He could be right,_ Stiles thinks. _And divided we fall._

“I don’t want anyone alone,” Derek says. “We need groups- Kira and Scott. Lydia and Malia. Isaac, with me.”

“So I guess I get to kick ass on my own?” Stiles jokes, antsy.

“You’re coming with us,” Derek says shortly. He doesn’t look at Stiles.

_Okay. When this is over, we’re going to have a talk,_ Stiles thinks to himself.

He’s pretty sure he’s figured out the source of Derek’s recent change in attitude. _He can’t protect me and he hates that._ Stiles isn’t pleased with the mental gymnastics he assumes Derek has been doing. He knows they need to talk- _after_ the case is sorted out.

“All right. We’ll take an hour to search, then check in. After another hour we’ll call it. I don’t want us to end up getting lost or injured. It’s dark. Be careful,” Derek adds, nodding.

“Bada-bum-bum-ba-dum,” Stiles mumbles under his breath.

Isaac shoots him a look. _Ghostbusters?_ Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, smirking. He thinks it’s a good sign when Isaac doesn’t roll his eyes.

 

* * *

 

“For the record, I’d like to repeat that this is a bad idea,” Stiles murmurs as they walk softly through the woods.

“You’re not wrong,” Isaac replies, ducking under a branch.

The woods are eerie at night. The trees are thin and dark in the moonlight and Stiles thinks he could understand why people stay away at night. Or at all, for that matter. He shudders when he thinks of the children, the people losing their way and never coming out.

“Check-in is in five,” Derek announces ahead of them, the line of his back ramrod straight.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles says quietly, glancing at Isaac.

_Don’t ask me,_ Isaac’s expression seems to say. _You would know better._

Stiles sighs and continues, stepping carefully over a pile of dead leaves. He exhales, blinks, and then there’s a faint ringing in his ears.

It feels like he’s about to pass out but he knows he’s completely aware. He blinks, almost feeling slow motion, and his eyebrows meet over confused eyes.

_What’s happening?_

He feels slow, as if he’s just woken up from a deep sleep and is trying to complete an obstacle course. He wants to speak, ask Isaac and Derek if they feel strange, but the ringing mounts into a wordless scream.

He hears his own small noise of pain and feels his hand move as if it’s a stranger’s, reaching up to grasp the side of his head.

“…Stiles?” Isaac asks. His voice ripples and echoes, warped.

“Stiles,” Derek calls but he’s far away, too far away.

His pain escapes through grit teeth and the scream pierces his head. When he cries out, he feels the pressure explode and then trickle away, relief flooding his senses.

“That…hurt,” Stiles manages, blinking rapidly as his head stops swimming.

“He’s bleeding,” Derek says shortly, worry and frustration edging into his words.

“Tilt it forward,” Isaac says quietly, thin fingers pressing against the back of Stiles’ neck.

“Ugh,” Stiles manages, blinking watery eyes as he feels warmth blooming in his nose.

“What happened?” Isaac asks. “Was it the same thing? You’ve never had one awake, have you?”

“No,” Stiles tries, wiggling his nose experimentally. It burns a little. “I don’t know what it was. It was…different. But…,”

“But what?” Derek asks, staring.

He looks like he’s waiting. Anticipating. Stiles looks at him, pausing. _What does he know?_

“What is it?” Isaac asks.

“…I think it’s that way,” Stiles finally says, gesturing. His eyes don’t leave Derek.

_He knows something,_ he thinks, _but I don’t know what._

Isaac helps Stiles up and the trio walk further into the woods.

“It’s this way,” Stiles says as he walks, not sure how he knows but certain he’s right.

“Let’s check in first,” Derek says, suddenly stopping.

_Um…okay._

“Team A reporting. Sound off,” Isaac says into the walkie.

“ _Team B. Kira says she’s getting a bad vibe,_ ” Scott’s voice issues, staticky and clipped, over the radio.

“ _Team C. Malia found some animals but I’m not sensing much in this direction,_ ” Lydia replies.

“Stiles had…he thinks we’ve found it. Rendezvous with us,” Isaac directs, checking his watch.

He reads off the coordinates easily and the other teams acknowledge the directions. Lydia’s voice floats through after Scott checks off.

“ _Guys. It’s a bad idea to go in there, even if you are together,_ ” she says.

Stiles can practically hear the pointed understatement.

“We’ll be safe,” Isaac says, more of an acknowledgement than a promise.

When he tucks the walkie back onto his belt, Derek looks at them both.

“Let’s see if we’ve found it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear each time I write it seems like the chapters get shorter and shorter. Enjoy!


	7. Terminus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't end quite as expected.

“Well, we found it,” Isaac says helpfully.

He doesn’t sound excited. Stiles can understand why.

The well is there, sure- but it looks worse than Stiles remembers having seen it. It looks _evil_.

“I think this is where nightmares crawl out of,” Stiles offers.

“I think we’re going to have trouble finding the remains,” Isaac shoots back.

“Let’s get to work,” Derek says, stepping towards the well.

Isaac and Stiles exchange a look. _Well, time to follow the fearless leader._

“What is that? Fifteen feet?” Isaac asks, peering down with his flashlight.

“Maybe less,” Stiles notes, walking the circumference. “I wonder if we can climb down using vines-,”

“Bad idea,” Derek interrupts. “Too unstable.”

“What, you have a ladder in your back pocket?” Isaac raises an eyebrow.

“Um…why don’t we just set it on fire?” Stiles interjects.

Silence.

“When you put it that way,” Isaac says mildly.

“We could,” Derek admits, peering into the darkness. “It might not burn completely.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Stiles dismisses, moving quickly to gather dry wood.

Isaac casts him an unimpressed look.

“Well, it _is_ ,” Stiles argues. “The point is cleansing. Fire and salt will work. It doesn’t matter if we can’t cremate the damn bones. All we need is to cleanse the area.”

“Why didn’t we just burn the woods, then?”

“Because that’s arson,” Derek replies, distracted as he gathers wood.

Stiles has to stifle his laughter.

The wood is dumped unceremoniously into the well and Stiles has to ask himself whether he _really_ believes it will work.

_It’s the thought that counts,_ he tells himself as Isaac rummages for a lighter in his backpack.

He’s repeating it like a mantra when he feels it get colder. The temperature change is almost immediate. Stiles blinks and in that moment he feels the chill set into his very core. It permeates everything and he wonders, humorless, _is this what Han felt like in the carbonite?_

“Stiles? What is it?”

Derek’s voice floats to him across an ocean of fog. Stiles distantly wonders if things will always be this way- if he’ll ever be fully aware and in control for these visions.

“He’s coming,” he hears himself whisper.

Derek barks something at Isaac and Stiles watches the well, cold fingers creeping up his spine. He _knows._ Suddenly, terrifyingly, he _knows_. He knows and he can do nothing about it.

The roar that issues from the well echoes like wind in a cave. It swirls into the night, almost a presence in and of itself. A shiver wracks Stiles’ body and he thinks _no, I will not give in,_ and he turns his feet and moves.

“I’m going to burn the bastard,” Stiles spits out and as he moves, he begins to rip his jacket off.

“Stiles-,” Derek starts but he stops as Stiles turns around.

He can feel his eyes blazing. He pulls a pouch out of his pocket, feeling the rough salt in his fingers. When he walks the circumference of the well, Isaac and Derek move out of his way.

“In the earth I bind you. To the grave I condemn you,” Stiles growls, tossing the last bits of salt into the well.

The howling increases.

“Move back,” Isaac says firmly, stepping forward with a lit branch.

As Isaac readies himself to drop the branch, Stiles feels a shiver again.

_Snap_.

When he hears the branch snap he doesn’t think; he moves, ignoring everything else around him, and lunges to push Isaac away from the well.

Everything happens almost immediately.

The branch falls into the well and the roar reaches a high shriek. Stiles shoves Isaac out of the way, bracing himself as he feels the fog solidify. Something grabs his ankle and pulls, hard; Stiles twists in midair and watches the ground rise up to him, hands stretched out to break his fall. He almost bounces on the dirt, hearing Derek’s roar as he is once again pulled towards the well.

He thinks with dim amusement that his ankle is going to be pretty badly bruised by the end of everything.

He doesn’t feel fear, though. Instead, he feels only a certainty, a solid drive to _not fall in_. He can feel earth crowding under his fingernails as he _digs_ , clawing at wet soil in an effort to slow- or stop- his fall.

“Grab him!” Derek roars, sprinting forward.

Stiles feels the cold maw of the well loom under him and with a low _skritch_ he halts, dangling, fingers sore and shoulders protesting at the sudden jolt.

He’s not badly out of shape. Sure, he’s not in lacrosse shape, but he’s not weak. He knows that logically he can only hold on so long because his joints are unhappy at the snap of weight and pressure they’ve experienced. He also knows that whatever pulled him in is unlikely to let go.

“Stiles!” he hears Isaac yell.

He doesn’t answer, knowing it won’t do any good. They know where he is. Instead, he begins to feel the edges of worry creep in on him as his legs get warmer.

_That would be the fire._

He almost yells and lets go when he feels a cold hand on his wrist.

“Hold on,” Isaac grunts, reaching to pull him up.

“ _Fucking_ wells,” Stiles grits out, feeling his arms twitch and shiver.

The flames roar up out of the well and he silently thanks adrenaline for giving him the strength to hold on.

“Are you okay?”

Stiles looks at Derek for a moment, blinking in the low haze of smoke that’s starting to emerge, and he nods.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“What happened?” Scott interrupts, sliding roughly up to them as he casts worried glances at the fire.

“Oh, same old,” Stiles coughs as he gets to his feet. Isaac braces him discreetly and he’s glad of it. “You know, I’m like catnip to these things. They tried to pull me in again.”

“Well, what-,” Kira starts but she doesn’t get to finish because there’s a high shriek and then a moment of bizarre silence.

It’s unnatural silence. It’s as if someone has muted a television- the world still moves and there _should_ be sound but there isn’t. No crackling fire, no low breeze, nothing. There is nothing and then Stiles reaches out, not knowing who he’s reaching for, and yells.

“Get down!”

The fire balloons, smoke billowing from the mouth of the well as pressure and heat explode out. Stiles throws his arms over his face, reacting instinctively as a wall of heat hits him.

“I think it’s over now,” Kira coughs into her hand.

“Please don’t say that,” Isaac replies dryly.

“Let’s go back to the house,” Derek manages. “We’ll keep an eye on things for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Isaac says. “But let’s stay away from fire.”

* * *

 

It’s like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“How are you feeling?”

His voice is quiet in the still night. Stiles moves, tilting his head towards the doorway.

“…fine,” he answers, exhaling slowly before he speaks. “You?”

“…better,” Derek admits. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles blinks and sits up, sweatpants sliding against the upholstery of the chair. The bluish light of the computer screen illuminates his cheekbones and Derek wonders just when he started paying attention to the little details. The color of his eyes. The way his freckles looked in the morning when they’d woken up at the office.

“Sorry? Why?”

“I’ve been acting like a jerk,” Derek says mildly, moving to sit in an empty chair.

“…yeah,” Stiles says faintly, sounding for all the world like he’s fallen into an alternate universe.

“Look, I know I’m not… _open_ , but- I care. I was worried. About you, about your abilities, about this place-,”

“We’re all worried, Derek,” Stiles smiles tiredly. “But we’re worried together.”

“Yeah,” Derek sighs. “Yeah, I think I forget that sometimes.”

“Well, we’re here to remind you.”

They’re quiet and Derek smiles, leaning back in his chair. _I have been an asshole. I should have tried to communicate more and control things less._

“Get to bed,” he says, rising to take Stiles’ place. “You need sleep.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Stiles murmurs, smiling softly as he leaves.

Derek’s smile doesn’t leave his face for a long time.

* * *

 

“I think we’re safe,” Lydia announces.

“You know, I _really_ wish you all would stop saying things like that,” Isaac murmurs as he cycles through the camera feeds.

“No signs of any activity,” she continues, ignoring him. “The well seems to have burned out. Scott took a look with us; it seems like the entire thing was reduced to ashes.”

“Any volunteers to look for bone fragments? No?”

“Isaac,” Derek says, “make sure you check time stamps. If everything is good save it to the file.”

Stiles thinks it’s an oddly peaceful ending to the investigation. Of course it hasn’t been easy but he thinks it’s been…surprisingly non-disastrous. _I’m not concussed. I think._

“Start packing up,” Derek tells Scott. “If nothing happens by six, we’ll call the family back.”

The day passes in a blur. Stiles gets into the rhythm of doing routine temperature checks, pacing the house in the meantime. It’s mindless work but it’s a welcome break from the constant activity they’ve been facing.

“Hey,” Malia says and Stiles doesn’t even jump.

“Yeah?”

“Feeling anything?”

“Tired,” Stiles snorts. “…no. No spidey-senses tingling.”

“That’s good,” Malia murmurs, glancing at the window.

It’s late fall, verging on winter, and the trees have lost almost all of their leaves. Stiles can’t help but think of the upcoming Thanksgiving break and the inevitable busy season that follows on the heels of the holidays. _Emotions are high during the holiday season,_ he thinks. _More activity. More suspected activity. More jobs._

“Do you think Deaton will tell you more when we get back?” Malia asks.

“Does Deaton _ever_ tell us more?”

She doesn’t return his smile. Her eyes are steady and her gaze unbreakable. It reminds Stiles of when they were together, when she’d looked into his eyes and said _it’s not me, Stiles, it’s you, it’s your denial_.

“He tells you. Lydia, too, but I don’t think she knows as much. She could probably guess, but he tells _you_. The rituals. Things you’re not supposed to do.”

“I never ask him for it,” he replies. It’s not a defense, not really, it’s more of an explanation.

“No. You know that’s why Derek is different around you,” Malia adds, leaning against the wall.

“Different,” he echoes.

“You know. He’s more worried about you. More afraid, too.”

“Derek isn’t afraid of me.”

“He is,” she says simply, but her gaze softens. “Stupid, really. But he’s afraid. Of what you can do.”

He doesn’t know how to reply so he doesn’t and then Malia moves away from the wall, hands in the pockets of her worn jeans. There’s a hole in the knee he remembers from a nasty investigation involving a poltergeist.

“You’re a good guy, Stiles. Don’t let that good be what hurts you.”

* * *

 

“You really should be careful,” Deaton says, expression serious even as a smile plays faintly at the corners of his mouth.

“I mean, I didn’t _ask_ for it to pull me into the well.”

“No. But you need to learn to channel what you feel.”

“Well, it would _help_ if I had someone to teach me.”

He watches the man put his things back in briefcase and he doesn’t miss the moment of hesitation as the tiny flashlight is fit into its slot. He thinks of the Strauss family, their hesitation in going back to their house.

“There is no one to teach you,” Deaton says calmly. “This is for you to figure out.”

“This isn’t _college_ ,” Stiles says incredulously. “I don’t have the luxury. This is dangerous.”

“It’s only dangerous if you let it be,” Deaton interrupts, firm. “They have power, yes- but you have more. You know that.”

“…I thought-,”

“You’re right. But you don’t have to break the dam to harness the power.”

Stiles feels a moment of exasperation and anger. _Always speaking in riddles._

The door opens then, so he bites his tongue as Derek walks in.

“How is he?”

“Fine,” Deaton says with an air of finality, closing his case. “You’re all lucky. Things went well.”

“Yes,” Derek agrees quietly.

Deaton glances at Stiles for a second. Stiles glares defiantly back. The man shakes his head once, minutely.

“Well. I’m always here to help,” Deaton says, smiling as he pats Derek’s arm before leaving.

_This isn’t awkward at all,_ Stiles thinks as he sits in silence.

“We’ll figure it out,” Derek finally says. “Whatever it is.”

Stiles smiles a little. _Maybe. Or maybe **I** need to. Alone._

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I'm coming up on finals for the semester so I decided to take a break. Since next semester is my last, expect more regular updates then. For now, however...I hope this left you with more questions. Hopefully, you'll join me for the next installment, where things become quite...strange.  
> As always, thank you for sticking with me and commenting. Reading your questions and comments really makes my day. I appreciate you all, even if I don't get to respond right away!


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